The Hunger Games: Next Generation
by HarperAnderson
Summary: My name is Primrose Everdeen. I am almost fourteen years old. The Hunger Games killed my sister, and in one short hour I will find out if this year, the odds are in my favour.


Chapter 1

I wake up to an empty bed. The spot where my mother slept beside me is still warm underneath the covers that have been tucked up around me.

I look around the room as I pull my knees up to my chest and lock my arms around them, tucking myself into a neat little ball. Across from where I sit is another bed, but unlike the one I perch on now, it is empty. It has been empty for exactly one year now.

Memories hit me like a cold gust of wind, making my limbs quiver and my head spin. The sound of her voice is forever in my head, but today she is louder than ever. Staring at that bed all I can hear is her voice, singing smoothly, rhythmically;_ this is the place where I love you_.

I throw the covers away from me, exposing my body to the true cold of the air surrounding me. The sharpness of it is merely a pin prick compared to a gunshot wound; meaningless.

I can't stay here any more, so I quickly slip out of my nightgown and into a pair of pants and an old green shirt that's still a size too big for my frail body. Just as I'm about to run out the door, I turn around and grab an old leather jacket without thinking.

"Couldn't sleep in on this big, big, big day?" A voice calls out from behind me. I'm only a few feet from my house, which means that he was waiting for me.

I spin around to face my follower. I cross my small arms in front of my chest as I stare into his dark green eyes. He wears a cocky smile and has one dark eyebrow raised defiantly. His dark brown hair is a mess on the top of his head, unkempt and unwashed.

"Oh, like you could?" I counter. For the first time in a long time, I grin. The horribleness that is today is almost comical.

Rory walks over to me and knocks me gently on the shoulder, and we begin walking.

"How are you doing?" He asks me once we're halfway to the village. I allow myself to glance quickly at him, and it's just enough time to see the concern that's written all over his face.

I sigh and let the question think in. How am I doing? If I'm going to be completely honest, I'm not letting myself feel anything. I've put off thinking about this day for eleven months now, ever since the Capitol shipped my sister's bludgeoned body home in a plain wooden box. If I don't let anything in, there is nothing there to hurt me more than I already am. Nothing, except her voice. _This is the place where I love you._

"Alright," I lie. It's easier this way.

Rory drops the subject, sensing that I don't want to talk about it.

"How are _you_ doing?" I ask, and this time, I'm the one who's concerned. It comes way too naturally to me, the desire to help others.

"Not great," Rory admits, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot. "Gale is... Unstable." Rory says carefully, and the pain on his face makes my heart ache. "He doesn't handle these things like you do. He's not strong, like you are."

"Rory," I say carefully. "I'm not strong, I just don't... I can't..."

"I can't stand to see him so weak. That's not who he is, Prim. He's strong, Gale has always been strong!" Rory says angrily.

"Rory -"  
"He was going to hit Posy, Prim! Yesterday, he completely lost it. He came home and just exploded. She's only two years old!"

I suck in a breath and try to process this. Ever since Katniss' death, nobody has been the same. None of us have returned to our similar habits, because they remind us of her too much. But we've all learned to deal. All of us, except Gale.

He stopped going into the woods the day we watched as the brute boy from District 2 beat her to death. Instead, he cares for his family by working back to back shifts in the mines, staying down there days at a time and only resurfacing to eat, shower, and sleep. This behavior is what sent Rory into the woods, making him take over Gale's place, just to put food on the Hawthorne family's table. In District 12, money can only buy so much.

Ironically enough, it was the same woods where Gale and Katniss met that had forced my friendship with Rory. Despite my mothers promise to my sister, she lost her mind, and I lost her. The hope she'd been filled with when Katniss had made it to the final two was what destroyed her. Hope, the only thing stronger than fear.

I managed to get a job at the apothecary in town, out of pity rather than because of my talent. I had no need to delve into the woods, into the unknown where everything is quiet, peaceful, and incredibly dangerous, yet it drew me in. I told myself that I was just curious about the herbs that lay beyond the fence of District 12, but in reality it was the only place where I could avoid the stares and sympathy from everyone in the Seam and in town.

I can smile about the memory now, but the day that Rory had almost stabbed me quite literally in the back, was a terrifying one. Thinking that I was some sort of Capitol runaway, or God forbid some kind of mutt, he'd snuck up behind me and pressed the knife into my back. I'd screamed, and my racing heart only pumped faster. The woods had always scared me, and being jumped had nearly given me a heart attack.

Thankfully, he'd had the sense to spin me around when he realized he knew my scream. Since then we'd forged a bond like any other. Well, like one other.

I let him be now, knowing full well that once he makes his mind up about something, he's not likely to change it. He'll be angry with Gale for a few days, or a few weeks, but eventually he'll come around. He usually does.

"What are we getting today?" I ask instead.

Rory sighs and runs one of his large, masculine hands through his ruffled hair. "Mom needs some more soap, and Posy is falling down a lot lately. Cuts and stuff."

I nod. "I'll find something."

I think about how easily we're avoiding the topic of the day. The thing that neither of us wants to mention, and that nobody in the district wants to think about.

We circle around the town, making small talk with the shop keepers and picking up our various needed items. Rory gives a small smile when I look questioningly at the small, decorated cookie he picks up at the bakery. "For Posy," he says.

When we finish, we head back down the path that leads away from the town and to the Seam. At the very end, where the line between the two starts, is an old, wooden building. This is the place where Katniss and Gale would trade their items and bring home treats for Rory, Posy, and I. They call it The Hob.

I allow myself a glance inside, and take a deep breath as I try to suck in all that I can. The smell of hot soup wafts up to my nose, and I recognize it to be Greasy Sae's. Katniss always brought home some of her soup for me when I was sick. The thought brings tears to my eyes and I push it away quickly.

I begin to calm down when we're farther away from town, but neither Rory nor I say anything. We reach his house first, and I walk him up to the door. He turns and smiles at me, then almost as a second thought, gives me a brief hug.

"I'll see you soon, Prim." Rory says, before ducking into the door.  
"See you," I say quietly.

I turn around and head for my own house. When I get there, I'm not surprised that my mother hasn't returned from wherever she went, and I set up my own bath. Once I've scrubbed all the dirt away that I can, I dry my hair carefully with a towel and open the creaky drawer on my dresser. In it, folded up in my neat style, lays a beautiful dark blue dress. I pull it out and admire it for a few minutes.

It's not exactly like the one Katniss wore last year, the one that had belonged to our mother, but I'd tried to replicate it as much as I could. Buttons were expensive, so I couldn't decorate the front of the dress like the other one, but I'd managed to sew on a pocket and add a few ruffles at the bottom. It'd taken eight months of pay in total to make it, but it was worth it.

I pull it over my head and stick my arms carefully in the sleeves. It fits a little big, since my measuring skills still aren't perfect, but I find a small piece of ribbon to tie around my waist, and that helps. I look in the mirror at my long, dark blonde hair and pale blue eyes before I sit down. I look exactly like my mother, with my high cheekbones and pale features. I have aged so much in the past year that I barely even recognize myself.

I begin to comb my fingers through my hair, and then deftly pull strands of three together until I've braided all of my hair. I use the pins that I've been finding and saving to twist the braids into a bun on the back of my head. When I am finished, I look up at my reflection in the mirror.

My name is Primrose Everdeen. I am almost fourteen years old. The Hunger Games killed my sister, and in one short hour I will find out if this year, the odds are in my favor.


End file.
